


silhouette of the cedar

by if_i_be_waspish



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Hats, Lots of Hats, Smut-ish, bit of shagging, hats for distraction, i did hat research, they play strip poker?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 16:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15199247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/if_i_be_waspish/pseuds/if_i_be_waspish
Summary: The Doctor grins, pulling away from her and clapping his hands together, “Let’s play a game, River!”A smirk tugs at River’s lips, “What kind of game, Doctor?”“Oh, I’ve got loads of games! Parcheesi, Candyland, Cards Against Humanity – oh, so many of those. Still save ‘em, anyway, though, those humans. I’ve got this game I found – it’s made by the Silurians, but – no, never mind,” His face pales a bit, “Not a good option. But I’ve got lots of games, really!”She smiles, looking him up and down, rolling her eyes when he doesn’t notice, “I’ll play a game with you, but it’s ladies’ choice.”





	silhouette of the cedar

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to retire, but then I wrote this.

River Song walks up the stairs to the TARDIS control room, that signature sway in her hips. When she reaches the top of the stairs, she pauses, looking at the Doctor as he squints at the screen of the console.

“Mum and Dad are asleep,” She purrs, laughing when the Doctor turns to face her, startling a bit. She always got a thrill out of startling an ageless Time Lord, nothing else quite like it, really.

The Doctor’s nose scrunches up in disgust, “I _hate_ it when you call them that, you know.”

River smirks, “I _do_ know, which is exactly why I do it.” It’s mostly the truth, anyway – it’s fun to rile him up, always has been, but there were days in her past when she longed for parents and now that she has them – well. It’s not the same. But there are days she thinks _it could be_.

She crosses the distance between she and the Doctor, running her hand along his shoulder blades when she’s near enough. He tenses through his tweed, but her hands drape over the front of his shoulders, anyway.

“River,” the Doctor means it as a sign of protest, but he spins in her arms, his hands snaking around her waist, “Your _parents_ are just down the hall.”

She looks at him pointedly, injecting her voice with innuendo, “That’s not what you said last time.”

The Doctor blushes, the tips of his ears turning red, “River – _spoilers_.”

River laughs, low and throaty, and she watches the Doctor swallow – he’s always particularly _loved_ that laugh, “Oh, _sweetie_ , if you don’t know how much you like it between my thighs by now, well,” Her eyes skate up and down his body, “One of us is doing something _very_ wrong.”

She didn’t think it was possible, but his blush deepens, his face positively crimson now. River waits for him to deny it, waits for him to stammer some poorly crafted denial that wouldn’t fool her anyway, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, blushing.

River’s hands, now looped around the Doctor’s neck, play with the hair at the nape of his neck, “Anyway,” She tugs on his hair, “They’re sleeping. They’ll be _sleeping_ for hours, you know.”

The Doctor snorts, “Humans – they’re _so_ ,”

River arches a brow at him, “Careful…” She warns.

The Doctor grins, “Tried careful once, _ever so dull_.”

She leans in so she’s pressing her forehead against his, “ _Hours_ to ourselves, the universe at our fingertips,” She smiles as the Doctor’s breath stutters a bit in his throat, “Whatever shall we do?”

The Doctor grins, pulling away from her and clapping his hands together, “Let’s play a game, River!”

A smirk tugs at River’s lips, “What kind of game, _Doctor_?”

“Oh, I’ve got loads of games! Parcheesi, Candyland, Cards Against Humanity – oh, _so_ many of _those_. Still save ‘em, anyway, though, those _humans_. I’ve got this game I found – it’s made by the Silurians, but – no, never mind,” His face pales a bit, “Not a good option. But I’ve got lots of games, really!”

River laughs – he is _ridiculous_ , but there’s something about it that just works. Something about _him_ that just works for her. Maybe because it’s something she never had, even when she was a little girl – even at her youngest, her most innocent, she was never _childlike_. And he isn’t all the time – but. When he is, it soothes some secret part of her hearts she didn’t know existed until she met him. Until she loved him.

She smiles, looking him up and down, rolling her eyes when he doesn’t notice, “I’ll play a game with you, but it’s ladies’ choice.”

He looks at her, his face falling a bit, “I could be a lady!”

River smiles, her eyes skimming his body again, landing decidedly on his trousers, “Not this time, _sweetie_. Though I look very forward to it.”

The Doctor sighs heavily, his fringe moving a bit with the effort, “ _Fine_. What game are we playing then?”

“Poker.” She explains, simply.

Her eyes are alight with mischief, but the Doctor misses it, rubbing his hands together and narrowing his eyes, “Oh, River, River, River….” He shakes his head, “An _entire galaxy_ is named after me because of a poker game – you will be very, very sorry, River.” He sits down at a small table in the corner, linking his hands together and cracking his knuckles, “What shall we bet?”

River follows him over to the table, “Oh, that one is easy, my love.” She sits down, and the Doctor watches her expectantly, “Clothes, of course.”

The Doctor freezes, his body going still in his seat. River watches his face, watches as it darkens just a bit – this is all very new to him, with her, in this body. But it’s clear from his reaction that despite his protestations, despite his inhibitions which she _knows_ she will rid him of someday, enough to have vigorous rounds of sex in public, in fact – he _wants_ her.

“And the stakes?” He asks, his voice suddenly high.

River grins, “Oh, _very_ high stakes.” She looks at him, “One request from the winner,” She points her thumb back at herself, “– _granted_ by the loser,” She looks at him.

The Doctor grins, his eyebrows climbing his forehead, “Oh, River, I’m going to buy _so many hats_!” He claps his hands, and then pulls out a deck of playing cards. Taking them from their box, he shuffles them, “And matching hats for you.”

River just shakes her head, cutting the cards at his indication.

“And what’ll you do, if you win?”

River stares at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “It’s a secret.”

“What sort of secret?” The Doctor asks, sounding a bit alarmed, “I shouldn’t wager something I don’t even know.” He considers her, shuffling the cards for a third time. He pauses, the deck in his hands, “Ah, no way you’ll win, anyway.” He starts to deal the cards, “Seven card stud?”

“Sweetie,” River’s voice drops an octave, “Don’t sell yourself short – you’re a solid _nine_ in this body, and you know it.”

The Doctor flushes again, dropping a card face up, his hands a bit shaky. He picks it up, glaring at her, “ _River_.” He grits his teeth, finishing the deal and setting the deck aside.

She blinks at him innocently, “What?” She picks her cards up and shrugs, “We measured.”

The Doctor flushes even more, but a smug grin spreads across his face. River rolls her eyes as she looks at her cards.

“Shame you were busy that day.” Her voice is nonchalant, and his face falls – River watches him carefully, sees the disappointed lilt in his brow. Taking pity on him, she sighs, “Honey, you are _very good_ with your _stud_ ,” At his grin, she rolls her eyes again, “Now, please,” She nods her head towards his cards, still face-down on the table in front of him, “You’ve got some losing to do.”

He picks up his cards, fanning them out in front of his face, his ridiculously long fingers clutching them, “The only one _losing_ here will be you, River Song – every stitch of clothing you’re wearing, in fact.”

River grins at him – she’s pretty confident in her poker abilities, having had a galaxy or two named after herself as well. The Doctor doesn’t know that, though, and he needn’t. He’ll find out soon enough – and she’ll finally get what she wants from him, just like she always does, one way or another.

The Doctor loses the first hand on the river, which he says is unfair, really – _a whole poker term with your name, it’s really unfair_. He kicks off his shoes, revealing one red sock and one blue, and stares at her across the table.

“Oh, sweetie,” River shuffles the cards, making a rather impressive bridge with them – she fans them out, turns them over, and slides them back together, exactly like a card sharp. The Doctor stares at her, stunned, “That’s _no_ coincidence.” She passes the deck to him to cut, “The last card in a game of poker is named the _River_ after _me_.”

He loses the second and third hands as well, which sees him lose his socks and his jacket. He pulls his arms out of the tweed, huffing as he slings it back across his chair, glaring at her pointedly.

She lets him win the fourth and fifth hands, losing her shoes and socks. Normally, she’d never willingly let anyone win anything, least of all him – but she quite likes getting him riled up. She loves how flustered he gets by a bit of her bare flesh – like he isn’t sure where to look precisely because the only place he wants to look is directly at her.

They switch to five-card draw, and River wins the sixth hand, watching as the Doctor carefully undoes his bowtie and sets it on the table next to him. He worries it with his right hand all through the seventh hand, smiling when River loses – genuinely this time. She peels off her tights, holding them up and dropping them to the floor, kicking her bare legs out to the side of the table.

She waits – the Doctor stills, deck in his hands, and then his eyes drift down to her bare legs. _There it is_ , River smiles, noticing the slight flare of his nostrils as he shifts in his seat and shuffles the deck.

The eighth hand sees his braces hit the floor of the TARDIS, the clacking sound echoing a bit off the walls. The ninth hand sees River lose her belt, the tenth sees the Doctor unbutton his shirt, his long fingers working each button through its respective hole until he shrugs it off his shoulders and over the back of the chair.

River’s eyes skate along his chest, and she makes a point of ogling him as he sits there, clad now in just his trousers and whatever’s underneath. She quite _likes_ this body, gangly though it is – and she longs to feel his bare skin under her fingertips, longs to feel his skin jump under her touch, like he can’t believe she’s actually touching him.

He never loses that, she knows, that sensation – he always jumps the first time she puts her fingers on his skin, and it makes her smile every time she dances her fingers along his flesh, tickling, touching, caressing – never quite able to believe she’s actually touching him, either. It’s nice to know, in those moments, that some sensations never fade – whatever is coming in her future, she comes from a past where the man in front of her now loves her hands on his body, and she’ll never forget that.

River lets him win the eleventh hand, for obvious reasons, and her fingertips glide under the hem of her dress. She stands a bit in the chair, working the skirt of her dress up over her hips. She sits back down and lifts the dress up the rest of the way, her eyes never leaving the Doctor’s. He watches with rapt attention as she pulls it over her head, dropping it in a pile near the side of her chair.

All the Doctor can see now is her bra, and again she waits. His eyes hold hers for a moment, and River counts in her head, wondering how long it will take him – she’s near _five_ when his eyes drop to her chest, taking in her lace bra, daintier than she usually wears. It’s a bit see-through, some twenty-first century deal that might be considered _trashy_ where she stole it in America. The Doctor’s eyes widen, and River sees them darken, sees his gaze flicker between her breasts.

He clears his throat, “Are you wearing underwear tonight, River?”

River smirks, “Why don’t you see for yourself, honey?”

The Doctor swallows, and River just _knows_ if he still had his clothes on, he’d be tugging at that collar right about now, because his breath is coming shallow. His gaze is still locked on her breasts, and maybe she should feel offended, but she can’t when he’s looking at her like _that_.

Finally, he wrenches his gaze away from her breasts and moves to duck his head under the table. River parts her knees, just wide enough so he will have an answer to his question.

When his head finally disappears under the table, River spreads her legs just a _bit_ more and he jerks up, his head hitting the underside of the table – his head doesn’t pop back up for a few moments though, and when it finally does, his face is flushed and he’s rubbing the back of his head.

“Satisfied?” She arches her brow at him.

He snorts, “Hardly.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can do about that after the game,” She smirks at him, “Your deal, my love.”

The Doctor loses the twelfth hand on a bluff, too distracted by River’s near nakedness to realize _folding_ was a fool’s errand:

When he realizes what happened, he looks at her incredulously, “River! I had a pair of Kings with an Ace high – you – you –” He looks at her cards, “You had _nothing_ , your hand is _rubbish_. How could you _possibly_ have bluffed me?”

“Psychopath, sweetie, remember?” River smirks at him, “And I know how to work you over.” Well. _That_ much is true, in more ways than one – and when he flushes, she’s quite sure that even at this point in his time stream he knows it, too.

He loses his trousers for his idiocy and he’s sat now in nothing but a pair of pants with little tiny _fezzes_ dotting them. He looks _ridiculous_ , which might be the only way he ever looks, honestly, but River still feels her hearts swell because he’s _her_ ridiculous.

“Last hand,” The Doctor says, and it’s true – it’s either her bra or his pants, and they both know it.

He’s lost a lot more than she has tonight, but his eyes are so clouded with lust for her, his eyes darting down to her chest repeatedly, that she doesn’t count on him figuring it out. She’s already won this game – as she deals the thirteenth hand, she slows her movements down, deliberately doling out the cards, watching as the Doctor’s eyes watch her fingers as they toy with the edge of her cards.

When she turns the river card, she sees she has a straight flush – the Doctor grins widely, but River knows it’s not likely – there’s only one hand that can beat hers, and luck spends enough time on the Doctor’s side to bother with a measly little poker game.

“Well?” She prompts, raising her eyebrow at him.

Grinning, he splays his cards in front of him, and River feels a bit of panic rush through her when she sees _royalty_ being spread out. The feeling passes though, when she sees four jacks looking back at her.

“Four of a kind,” The doctor grins, “Give me your bra and take me hat shopping, River Song.”

River looks at him, a slow grin spreading across her face, “I’ll give you my bra regardless, sweetie, but I’m afraid it’ll have to be after you give me your pants,” She sets her cards down on the table face up, “Straight flush.” She says, watching with amusement as the Doctor’s face falls and his bottom lip juts out into what can only be described as a _pout_.

He’d never been good at losing, honestly – sighing, River rolls her eyes, reaches behind her and unclasps her bra. She moves it down her arms and then lets it fall to her feet, watching as the Doctor’s eyes are suddenly glued to her chest – like he just can’t help it. The air is cool against her breasts and her nipples instantly pucker, the Doctor’s pupils dilating with desire as he drinks her in.

His disappointment at losing forgotten thanks to the bare flesh revealed to him, the Doctor licks his lips.

“River?” His voice is slightly hoarse, and River smiles, “What did I lose?”

Grinning, River stands, watching as the Doctor’s eyes rove her body – she _loves_ the way he looks at her, like she is uncharted territory even though his hands know every inch of her body by hearts. It’s how he always looks at her – and it makes her feel _cherished_ in a way she’d never known before him.

River shrugs, “Nothing you’ll mind giving too terribly much by the time my mouth gets done with you.”

The Doctor swallows harshly, and River reaches her hand out and slides it into the Doctor’s, tugging gently. She’s pleased when he immediately stands up and follows her willingly. She leads him through a looping corridor, and he follows along like he knows precisely where they’re going. They pass a locked door, and she hears the Doctor grumble a bit at it – she knows he so _hates_ having a door on his TARDIS that won’t open for him. River smirks, thinking about the _toys_ behind that door that would probably shock him this young and the key she keeps hidden in her pocket, sometimes around her neck.

River leads him into the bedroom; she’s still completely naked, and when she closes the door behind them, she’s pleased to see the Doctor is apparently every bit as into this as she is. She turns the lock on the door, turns to face him, and waits.

She is so patient with this him – she has to be, really. But she doesn’t mind – there was a time when he was patient with her, too.

The Doctor’s eyes alight on her chest, and then his eyes – those same eyes that have watched planets burn and die a thousand times over – darken, his gaze trailing down her body.

River leans up and kisses him gently, her tongue ghosting into his mouth. His breath hitches in his throat and River smiles against his lips. He kisses her back, and then his hands snake around her waist to her back as they move up her spine along her naked flesh. She burns where he touches her and her hands mirror the path of his fingers, her nails dragging lightly along his spine. Her touch makes him gasp and he pulls away.

“River, I want…” He whispers, his voice warm against her mouth. She feels his hips press into hers and she meets him, rocking against him.

“I know, sweetie,” She whispers back, “And you can _have_.” Her eyes search his, “I’m _yours_.”

The Doctor looks at her so reverently, the backs of his fingers dancing along her cheekbones before he grins. His head dips to hers and he kisses her with an unexpected urgency that makes her stomach coil in the best possible way, like it does for a promise. His hands crawl into her hair, holding her in place. River reaches down and cups him through his utterly ridiculous pants, feeling him heavy and hard under her eager palm. Her thumb trails his length and he kisses her harder, a groan of approval falling from his mouth and into hers.

He walks her back to the bed, sitting her gently on the edge, his large hands on her biceps. She looks up at him and his gaze is so tender it nearly steals her breath from her lungs. She hooks her thumbs in the waistband of his pants and drags them slowly down, her fingers tickling the outsides of his thighs. When he’s finally free – and they _really had_ measured – she smirks.

River puts her hands on the front of his thighs to steady herself – then, she sinks to her knees in front of him, her eyes never leaving his. She smirks as he looks down at her wide-eyed, his eyebrows climbing halfway up his forehead as he drinks her in as she is now - on her knees before him.

She’d never gotten down on her knees for _anyone_ before she met him. The first time she had done, he’d looked at her with such awe that she ached with the weight of his gaze. It was a look that soothed her, righted some ancient wrong in her blood that she could never name. She’ll remember that look for centuries, feel it course through her veins for decades – it’s not unlike how he’s looking at her now: soft, reverent.

River leans forward, her hands still on his thighs for balance. She runs her tongue along his tip and his hips buck into her, asking for more. She wants to ask him how new this is for him, but he _always_ responds to her this way, like he hasn’t been touched like this in decades, maybe longer – and she’s not so sure she can bear a sad answer tonight.

She sinks her mouth over him slowly – _so_ slowly, and his gasp echoes through the room. She takes as much of him in as she can, her hand coming to his base to make up the difference. River moves then, her head sliding up and down his length as her tongue swirls around him. His hands move to her hair, tightening into her curls and she moans around him, her tongue never stopping its exploration.

River loves him like this – wanton and needy, her tongue drawing curses from his mouth as he chants.

“River!” The Doctor moans around her name, and she feels a fresh wave of arousal course through her. She _loves_ when he says her name like that – like it’s a curse, some dirty secret between the two of them. She especially loves when _it is_.

River moves more quickly, enjoying the feel and taste of him on her tongue. His breathing is ragged, and River knows his body like she knows her own – she _twists_ her hand in concert with her tongue and his hips buck into her mouth and he’s nudging at the back of her throat. She swallows purposefully around him and the Doctor cries out, his fingers tightening in her hair as he pulls her way from him, her mouth still open.

The Doctor looks down at her with wide and glassy eyes, panting, “River you are – that was,” She grins, still on her knees. She does _so_ love rendering him speechless, leaving him searching for words. He always has so many, but never when he’s in her mouth, “I need…” He trails off, lifting her gently from her knees.

River stands, “I know what you need, sweetie…” River smirks as she lies back on the bed, her eyes slowly raking him over.

The Doctor positions himself on the bed above her, his bare chest brushing against her breasts. He leans in and kisses her, his mouth warm and searching against hers. His hand trails lightly up over her side, his fingers softly tickling her skin. His thumb brushes her jaw, his mouth still moving tenderly against hers.

River never knows what she’s going to get with him. After he lost tonight, River expected him to take her rough and hard, but he’s excruciatingly gentle with her now, instead. He’s touching her like she could break under his sometimes careless fingers and she wants to tell him she’s not so fragile, but there are days she thinks that she _is_.

The Doctor’s hand trails back down and he cups her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, his nail scraping just a bit; enough to make River gasp into his mouth as her back arches off the bed towards his touch. He starts his descent then, his mouth exploring her body and again she wonders how much of this – how much of _her_ – is uncharted territory for him.

The Doctor settles between her thighs, and he plants small kisses to the inside of each one before he looks up at her, his breath warm against her skin. He grins at her a little – his ridiculous grin that she’s come to love in this body – and then he surges forward, burying his face in her, his tongue working against her flesh, tasting her. River’s hips fly off the bed and the Doctor splays a hand low across her abdomen, holding her in place. His fingers enter her then and he curls them inside of her _just_ right.

 _Oh, so not_ that _uncharted, then_.

River cries out, her voice loud in the quiet bedroom. The Doctor thrusts his fingers in and out of her in a dizzying rhythm, his tongue working on her clit. As he works, she feels herself tumbling towards the edge of ecstasy and she _so_ very much wants to fall over it with his babyface between her thighs.

But she’s suddenly filled with a desire for them to come together, more romantic of a notion than she’s used to, but there’s something about the way he’s been looking at her all night – like he just can’t help himself, and wouldn’t even if he _could_ – that has her craving the intimacy that comes with slow and steady.

She wants them in sync tonight the way they never are, him sliding in and out of her like there’s nothing else in this entire universe for him; she wants her name on his sweet lips mingling with his name on hers, falling into the air between them like a thousand promises spanning decades, centuries, millennia.

River reaches down, pushing her hands into his hair frantically – he moans against her and she almost comes from the sensation, but she manages to pull away from him, her fingers still grasping his hair.

The Doctor looks up at her, his chin slick, his eyes a heady mixture of confusion and lust, his face twisted into a grin.

 _Oh, he_ enjoys _this_.

“Sweetie, I need…” She trails off, breathless and panting. She needs _so much_ , and only ever from him now.

“Oh, I know what you need…” He smirks at her, echoing her earlier words to him. She’d slap him, but she’s too turned on, too aching for release. And it’s not that kind of night this time.

Then he’s at her entrance, positioning himself above her so quickly she doesn’t have time to think or breathe before he slides into her, and she realizes that he _does_. Of course he knows exactly what she needs – he _always_ knows what she needs.

The Doctor pulls out, then slides back in, dipping his head to groan against her neck. His tongue darts out to lick at her skin and one of her hands fists in the back of his hair while the other claws at his back, sliding against his smooth skin. It feels like he’s a part of her now, _the best_ part of her, his hips pushing into hers, his mouth on her neck, his teeth scraping her skin.

River pants against his ear, whispering inside of it, exactly the way she knows he likes. His hands caress her breasts as he moves his hips, and then his hand slides down in between their bodies as his mouth finds her ear so he can speak inside of it. His voice is ragged, low in that way that has her clenching around him at the sound of it.

“River…” He licks at her ear as his fingers work against her, moving in tight circles that drive her wild, “Come for me, River.”

She arches her hips up into him, her hands moving lower, clutching at him as she guides him to change his rhythm just a bit.

The Doctor groans as her hips meet his thrust for thrust and she can tell he is _so close_ by the way his hips stutter, by the way he starts to lose control, his thrusts increasingly ragged as he moves within her.

“Come _with_ me, sweetie,” River breathes, and the Doctor groans, his fingers working against her faster, trying to bring her over the edge she’s been standing on for ages now.

When she hears his breath stutter, when she hears his sharp intake of breath on the in-thrust, River feels her self break. She feels her walls clench around him as she cries out, her words a jumbled mix of swear words and pet names she would curse herself in another life for ever uttering. A second later, she feels the Doctor thrust against her roughly as her name spills from his lips once, twice, three times, the sound so sweet in the quiet of the bedroom.

After a moment, he collapses against her, his body warm and heavy against hers. She doesn’t spend much time on her back in their time together, but in moments like these, as their bodies breathe together, hearts hammering in their chests – it feels like River suddenly _knows_ a word she had been searching for her whole life.

It feels like this man, this ridiculous man with his hats and his flaws is the only one who knows how to speak it to her. It feels like he is the very definition of it.

The Doctor rolls off of her, tugging on her arm so she’s curled up next to him, her head resting softly against his chest. His arm tucks around her shoulder, and his hand caresses her bicep slowly, tenderly.

“Is it always like this?” His voice is still ragged and she smiles against his chest.

“Sometimes,” River’s hand draws little patterns on his chest and the Doctor turns his head, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as he smiles, clearly recognizing the Gallifreyan she is writing on his chest: _spoilers_.

The moment is slow and quiet between them, and River revels in it – so much of their life together is filled with adventure, with saving planets, with mad cap heists and guns blazing – well, hers anyway. It’s always fast and harried, and so she quite likes these moments, the quiet ones; which is something she keeps learning about herself – and she quite likes who she is with him, most days. How different she is – how different she can be.

“So,” The Doctor clears his throat, his fingers still trailing up and down her arm, “What did I lose, then?”

River grins – she’d nearly forgotten about the bet. She leans back so she can see his face, resting her elbow on the bed and her head on her hand. “I want you to take me to the Singing Towers of Darillium,” She says, a smile breaking across her face.

The Doctor’s face falls and he freezes for just a moment before he springs into action. He gets out of bed, clutching the sheet against him, pulling it away from her.

“No!” His voice is loud, panicked, and River nearly flinches at the sound of it.

She is naked on the bed, watching as he paces back and forth along the length of the room, the white sheet around his waist. He tugs at his hair with his free hand, refusing to look at her, looking wildly around the room for something, anything.

But it’s just her.

x

The Doctor paces around the room, his eyes wild as he pulls on the ends of his hair because _this cannot be happening_. He feels River’s eyes on him, feels her watching him with a careful gaze, and he finally turns to look at her.

She is naked on the bed, unabashed and even now in this crisis state he feels a sharp _pang_ of desire for her – he’s never met anyone quite like her, not in thousands of years, his River Song.

“No!” He says the word again, and then it falls from his mouth over and over again until it doesn’t make any sense to him anymore – until it sounds like a language even _he_ does not understand.

River doesn’t move, just sits on the bed quietly, watching him and he wonders how many of his storms she has already weathered.

Finally, he looks at her properly, inching closer to the bed, trying to stop the wild beating of his hearts in his chest, “River – _anything_ but that.”

She fixes him with a hard stare, but he can tell her hearts aren’t entirely in it, “But I won the wager – _one request_ – and that’s my request. The Singing Towers of Darillium.” River explains it simply, her voice controlled.

The Doctor is on dangerous territory now, he knows, flirting with a line he shouldn’t even be considering touching but he _can’t_ – it’s too soon, it’s all too soon – and it’s not supposed to happen now.

He steps towards the bed again, sitting on the edge as he looks at her, trying to keep his eyes neutral but knowing with absolute certainty he is failing miserably.

“River,” He implores, “I will take you _anywhere_ – anywhere in the Universe. I will do _anything_ – that black market you like so well? I’ll fly you right there, just say the word. Anywhere, I swear - just not - not _there_.” He can’t say the word, can’t even say the name of the planet on which they will spend their very last night together. He’s not ready for the last time he sees her.

River’s eyes search his, she looks curious and annoyed and a bit frightened, “But you _promised_ ages ago.” Her voice is sad, quiet – and he wonders how many promises he’s broken to her. But it doesn’t matter what future him has done, because this is one he can’t keep, not yet.

The Doctor feels the frustration setting in and it’s the absolute worst kind, the kind born from utter desperation and he wants to grab her by the arms and _plead_ with her, spoilers be damned.

He sighs, running a hand roughly through his hair, “Because you _asked_ , didn’t you? You kept going on and on about it, and so I said – of course I said I’d take you there. But, I promised before I _knew_.” He stops himself – that line he’d been toeing he just crossed, he knows, but he’s got one foot on the other side of it and if dragging it back means losing her now, he can’t do it.

Because, yes, he had promised – but he promised before he _knew_. Before he knew what _loving her_ felt like.

The Doctor had promised because it was inevitable, and because he had promised the first her he ever met that he wouldn’t rewrite their time together; he knows a part of him knew even then, when he was his Tenth self, what River Song would come to mean to him.

When he’d promised her Darillium, he’d assumed he’d _know_ when the time was right – and maybe he will, someday. Maybe someday he will be ready to live only with the _ghosts_ of her scattered across the universe, but it’s not now – and he doesn’t think he will _ever_ be ready for that, if he’s honest. But maybe one day he will be brave enough for it, for that first promise he ever made to her.

River looks at him, “And now you’re un-promising?” Her voice is careful, and she watches him.

“Yes!” The Doctor groans, “No.” He sighs, “I don’t know – just – River, _please_.” He looks at her now, not even trying to keep the plead out of his eyes, out of his voice.

River’s eyes widen a bit and she moves closer to him on the bed, her hand reaching out to touch his face. He leans into her touch, into her soft palm – and he looks at her, at the woman who _loves_ him like he isn’t this broken man full of hand-me-down parts from previous incarnations.

He can tell she knows something, even in a universe as vast as this one is, there are rumors and gossip, things that people overhear – there are always _spoilers_.

“We’ll fix it – whatever it is – together.” She runs her thumb along his cheekbone and he presses his eyes shut because he can’t look at her and say this.

“Some things can’t be fixed, River. You know it – you _know_ I can’t fix everything.” The Doctor opens his eyes, watches as her eyes fill, but she does not cry.

This woman – this _woman_ who is so good to him, so constant in her trust in him – _smiles_ : “Not even with your screwdriver?” She tilts her head to the side, her palm pressing firmer into his cheek, “Because I’ve got this _cabinet_ …”

He can’t help it – he _laughs._ He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to her lips, and they part under his. He slips his tongue into her mouth, enjoying the way she tastes of danger and _flowers_. Her hand slides down his face to his neck, and she presses her fingers against his pulse point, feeling his hearts beating.

The Doctor pulls away from her then, reaching out and tucking a curl behind her ear – it’s a simple gesture, but he feels the weight of it as he watches her breath catch in her throat.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He rests his forehead against hers, shaking his head a bit.

River chuckles, her fingernails scratching lightly along the skin of his neck, “Oh, honey– usually that line is _screamed_ at me by someone who can’t _wait_ to be rid of me.”

The Doctor smiles, and then feels the sadness wash over him as he looks at her, because the last thing he wants is to ever be rid of her, his River Song. He can’t quite let the words fall from his lips, but in this moment he is sure of it – he is sure that he _loves her_ more than he hates himself and maybe that’s exactly the problem – because he’s seen so many people ripped from his life: cursed, dead, or worse because of what he’s done, because of who he is.

And that is his fate – _and now it is hers_ – because River asked him before he even knew what she was asking. But _she did_ ask him, her eyes pleading with him exactly the way his are pleading with her tonight

The Doctor feels the desperation pulling at him again, this time from the inside out, and he feels a vague sense of panic rush through his body. He looks at her, his eyes serious, “Please don’t make me take you to Darillium, River. Not tonight.” _Not ever_ , he wants to say, but he can’t, he doesn’t.

River is quiet for a moment, watching him. She tilts her head to the side, searching his face, looking at his eyes as they stare back at her, desperate. Finally, she sighs, “Okay, sweetie,” She plants a kiss to his cheek and stands up, walking through the bedroom and out the door into the hall.

The Doctor does what he knows he will spend decades doing, centuries if he’s lucky: he follows her. He follows her down the hall, watching the sway of her hips as she goes back to the control room. She slips her dress over her head and then makes her way to the console, pressing buttons, twisting nobs, and typing something on the screen.

He watches her in awe, at home in his TARDIS. She catches him staring, turns to look at him, and winks. “Stop staring, sweetie, and _get dressed._ We don’t need to be cited for public indecency. _Again_.”

The Doctor looks at her, his mouth slightly agape, “What do you mean _again_?” He asks, moving to his clothes.

“Spoilers,” She says, her voice dropping low as the TARDIS begins to take flight.

“This is _my_ TARDIS!” The Doctor exclaims, straightening his bowtie.

“Yes, but she likes _me_ better,” River grins at him and he swears he hears the TARDIS groan in approval and he knows he’s not getting control of the TARDIS back any time tonight.

And control his TARDIS, River does.

She takes him to the American south where she buys him another Stetson, black this time because _it just_ looks _better, sweetie_.

They pick out a colorful ridiculous sombrero that the doctor immediately dubs as his _third favorite hat of all time_ in Mexico, and two baseball hats in New York – one for the _Yankees_ and one for the _Mets_ , just in case.

In Canada, he picks out a campaign hat, neutral in color and likely made for a child because it doesn’t _quite_ fit on his head.

Argentina sees him being fitted for a gaucho hat, and in Ecuador he buys a Panama hat, popping it on his head and strutting around much to River’s obvious embarrassment.

In Bolivia, he gets a bowler hat, then tells River about the time he spent with Magritte: _odd man, cheated on his wife – he fancied me a bit, though_.

In Morocco, River lets him buy three fezzes because they’re his favorite, and _what if the other two get worn out or_ worse? – the last bit said with a glare directed at her then at her holstered gun.

In Jamaica, he wears a tam, and River thinks it might be his most ridiculous look yet as he befriends an old local, discussing steel drums and bad movies.

In Russia comes the ushanka; in Australia, the bush hat.

In England, the top hat ( _we’re going to go to so many fancy parties, River)_ ; in Italy, the boater hat; in Ireland the newsboy cap.

“You’ll need a new _room_ for all these hats,” River shakes her head.

The Doctor grins, “Maybe I can use that one that’s _locked_ , if I can figure out how to open it, that is…”

River reaches down and fingers the key in the hidden pocket of her dress – smirking at him, she raises an eyebrow.

“Do _you_ know what it’s for, River, that room?”

River just smirks, pulling a fisherman’s cap over his head, grinning as the Grecian waters sparkle in the background behind him, the sun glinting off the water.

“Spoilers, my love.”

x

They are sitting outside a small café in Paris, despite the fact that he tells her there’s a million more romantic places in the universe and he wants to show her every single one, twice. The Doctor is wearing a ridiculous beret, pastel blue in color, and River is wearing a cream one, her curls stuffed under the tiny hat, scarcely contained.

A flurry of snow begins to fall and the little flakes get stuck in her curls and he laughs at her, giggling in delight and in that instant she knows – she _knows_ – that if she had to choose, she would rather die than have him rewrite even this single moment between them.

And she knows there will come a day when the Doctor will listen to her – when he will believe her when she tells him that she wouldn’t change a thing, not a moment of their story, however dark, wherever and however it ends. Because she loves him more than she loves breaking rules and stealing things – she loves him even more than she hates his silly hats.

And someday, River knows, that may be how it ends:  _she loves him_.


End file.
